


Sickness and snuggles

by TheJediAssassinGirl



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: M/M, Race is a dramatic little shit when he gets sick, also based on a comic by crystallizedtwilight on tumblr, as always, based on Newsies live, bc I love those boys, credit where credit is due
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 10:34:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18963517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheJediAssassinGirl/pseuds/TheJediAssassinGirl
Summary: When Spot Conlon shows up at the Manhattan lodging house demanding to see Race, Jack fears for his friend’ life. That’s before he sees Spot crouch by Race’s bed and hears him whisper “heard ya fainted in the streets yesterday.”Based off a comic by Crystallizedtwilight on Tumblr





	Sickness and snuggles

It’s midmorning, and Spot Conlon, the King of Brooklyn, is pounding on the door of the Manhattan newsies’ lodging house. His breathing is ragged from having sprinted all the way there, and sweat is dripping from his muscles. Jack Kelly, the leader of the Manhattan newsies, opens the door after what feels like hours, but in reality is only a couple of minutes.

“Conlon,” he says, surprise crossing his face. “What’re you—” Spot cuts him off. 

“Where’s Racetrack?!” he demands. 

“What?” Jack asks. 

“You heard me, Kelly,” Spot growls, not in the mood for any bullshit. “Where’s. Racetrack.”

“Why do ya need ta know?” Jack asks, and Spot loses his patience. He shoves Jack out of the doorway, using one hand to pick the taller boy up by the collar and slam him against the wall and the other to grab his pocketknife and flick the blade out. 

“I ain’t gonna ask ya again,” he snarls. “Where is he?!”

“Upstairs,” Jack says, eyeing the blade in Spot’s hand. He’s prideful, but he isn’t an idiot. Spot drops him, heading for the stairs. Jack runs after. 

“Spot, c’mon,” he pleads. “I know Race can be irritatin’ sometimes, an’ I’ve  _ tried _ ta get him ta stop sellin at Sheepshead, but he doesn’t listen! Please, Spot, he ain’t doin’ well. He’s real sick, fainted in the streets yesterday. You wouldn’t soak a sick guy, would ya?” Spot ignores him, reaching the second floor of the lodging house.

“Which room’s he in?” He asks. 

“Third on the left,” Jack says. “Spot…” But Spot has already disappeared into the room. Peering into the room, Jack sees Spot crouching by Race’s bed. Spot’s dark eyes show nothing but concern as his hand gently cups Racetrack’s pale, sweaty face, his thumb lightly caressing the blonde’s cheekbone. Race opens his eyes.

“Spot,” he croaks. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“Heard ya fainted in the streets yesterday,” Spot says, his voice soft and worried. “M’here ta take care a you.”

“Spot, I don’t want you ta waste time here instead a sellin’ papes,” Race protests weakly. “You need that money.”

“Goddammit, Higgins, I lost a whole damn week’s pay durin’ the strike, an’ business is boomin’ now,” Spot says. “I’ll gladly miss a week or more for you.”

“Bucket,” Race says.

“Huh?” Spot asks, confused.

“Bucket!” Race repeats, more urgently now. Jack springs into action, running into the room and placing a tin bucket that had been by the bed on Race’s lap seconds before Race throws up into it. Spot glares at Jack.

“You were eavesdroppin’,” he hisses accusingly. Jack crosses his arms.

“Well, excuse me for wantin’ ta make sure my second in command was safe,” he says. “Given that ya didn’t actually tell me what ya wanted with Race, ya just threatened me ‘til I told ya where he was!”

“Spot!” Race protests. 

“Sorry, love,” Spot says. “I needed ta see you. Make sure you were alright. I’m gonna go talk ta Hotshot, let him know he’s in charge a my boys for a while. An’ I’ll get ya that soup ya like.” He kisses Race’s sweat-soaked forehead, and then he’s gone. 

“How’re ya feelin’?” Jack asks, squeezing Race’s hand. 

“Like all the horses in Sheepshead ran me over,” Race groans. 

“So… uh…” Jack says, shifting his weight awkwardly.

“I know, I shoulda told ya,” Race says. “I’m sorry I didn’t, I was just scared a how you’d react. I know you an’ Spot still ain’t exactly friends, even since the strike.”

“Does he treat ya right?” Jack asks. 

“He treats me exactly how I wants him to,” Race replies. 

“An’ you’s happy with him?” Jack asks. 

“Yeah,” Race says. “Yeah, Jack, I’m real happy with him. He’s perfect for me.”

“Then I ain’t gotta problem with you two bein’ together,” Jack says. “We may not be the best a friends, but I can tolerate him, an’ I ain’t the one datin’ him. You is. It ain’t my place ta dictate who ya can an’ can’t be with. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.” Race smiles. 

“Thanks, Jack,” he says. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Jack says. “Now get some rest while ya wait for the small beefcake ta get back an fawn over ya.” Race chuckles weakly and hurls a spare pillow at Jack’s head. Jack dodges it, laughing as he leaves. It only takes about half an hour for Spot to come back from his errands, a steaming bowl of soup in his hands. He sits on the edge of Race’s bed, feeding his sick lover carefully. As the last drops of soup disappear down Race’s throat, there’s a knock at the door. Moments later, Jack appears in the doorway with a tall, willowy girl wearing the long, white dress and apron that all nurses wear. She carries a small black bag, and she smiles at Spot.

“Who’s this?” Jack asks. 

“Marie,” Spot says, getting up to shake hands with the girl.

“How do we know Marie?” Jack asks. Spot rolls his eyes. 

“ _ You _ don’t know her,” he says. “She’s Hotshot’s older sister, an’ she’s a nurse. She’s here ta look at Race.”

“You know we can’t afford a nurse!” Jack protests. 

“Relax, Kelly,” Spot says. “I helped her out a while ago. She owes me a favor. She ain’t chargin’ anythin’.”

“Is this the patient?” Marie asks, approaching Race.

“Yeah,” Spot replies, helping Race sit up. Marie takes a thermometer from her bag and places it in Race’s mouth. After a few minutes, she takes it out and looks at it.

“Goodness!” She says. “He’s running a high fever. 104 degrees. What have his symptoms been?”

“He’s been throwin’ up a lot,” Jack says. “He’s been coughin’, and he’s complained about his whole body achin’. He’s also been real weak an’ tired, An’ he fainted in the streets yesterday while he was sellin’ papes.”

“It sounds like the flu to me,” Marie says. “He shouldn’t be contagious, thankfully, but he’ll need something a little stronger than what I have.” She scribbles something down on a notepad, and hands the page to Spot. “It’ll run you about five dollars,” she says.

“Alright, thanks Marie,” Spot says. Marie smiles and nods. 

“Happy to help,” she says as she packs up her things and leaves. 

“ _ Five dollars? _ ” Jack cries once she’s gone.

“It’s fine,” Spot says. “I’ll pay it outta my savings.”

“Spot!” Race protests. “I may not be able ta stop you from wastin’ your time ta be with me, but I ain’t lettin’ ya waste your whole savings on me!”

“It ain’t my entire savings, darlin’,” Spot says. “An’ all the money I save up’s for you anyway.”

“Still,” Race says, holding firm. “You ain’t allowed ta pay the whole five dollars yourself. Take a buck from my box.” He takes a moment to hurl into the bucket again as Jack takes the money from the cigar box on top of Race’s dresser. 

“Oh Racer,” Spot murmurs, carding his fingers through Race’s damp blonde curls. 

“I’ll pitch in a buck myself,” Jack says. “An’ I’ll ask the other morons ta help with the last two that we need.”

“I’m givin’ more than a buck a my savings,” Spot says.

“No you ain’t,” Race replies. “I ain’t lettin’ you.” 

“And how’re ya gonna stop me, hmm?” Spot aks, still running his hands through Race’s hair. “You’s sick an’ weak an’ bedridden. You’s in no position ta stop me.”

“If you give more than a buck for my medicine, I ain’t kissin ya for the entire time you’re here,” Race says, grinning smugly. Spot’s hands stop moving through Race’s curls. He stares at his lover, aghast.

“You ain’t serious,” he says. “You know how much ya love kissin’ me. You wouldn’t last a day!”

“Maybe so,” Race says. “Do ya wanna test that?” He knows he has Spot beat. As much as he loves kissing Spot, he knows Spot loves getting kissed more. 

“Fine,” Spot says. “Just a buck.” Race’s smug grin gets bigger, and Spot gives him a dirty look. “You can wipe that dumb smile right off your face, Higgins,” he says.

“Oh yeah?” Race challenges. “Make me.”

“I’m gonna go talk ta the other guys about gettin’ those last two bucks,” Jack says, painfully aware of the sexual tension in the room. “Race, send the beefcake if ya need anything.”

“Right,” Race says. Jack leaves, closing the door behind him. 

“Budge over,” Spot tells Race. 

“You’re gonna make the sick guy share his bed?” Race asks. 

“Well, I was  _ gonna _ give the sick guy some cuddles,” Spot says. “But I guess—”

“Wait, Spot, please,” Race whines, scooting over to make room for his lover. Spot grins, taking his shoes off and getting into bed with Race. He wraps his arms around Race’s waist. Race kisses his forehead. 

“You’re real cute, ya know that?” Spot says. 

“I’m dyin’ a the flu, Spot,” Race pouts. 

“You ain’t  _ dyin _ ’ ya big baby,” Spot replies. “You’s just a little sick, that’s all.”

“But Marie said I had a 104 degree fever,” Race says. 

“That don’t mean you’s dyin’,” Spot says, gently caressing Race’s cheek with his thumb. “An’ anyway, sick or not you’re still real cute.” He kisses Race’s forehead, and Race hums happily. 

“I love you,” he says.

“I love you too,” Spot replies. “Now try ta get some sleep , alright? It’ll help your body heal.” Race grins. 

“Alright, Dr. Conlon,” he says. Spot rolls his eyes. 

“I don’t have ta be a doctor ta know that your body needs rest when you’re sick,” he says. “Get some sleep.”

“Alright,” Race says. He really is tired, he just wanted to give Spot a hard time before he actually went to sleep. He closes his eyes, snuggling close to Spot’s chest. Spot smiles. 

“Good boy,” he says. 

“M’your good boy,” Race mumbles sleepily before drifting off into dreamland. After about an hour, Jack comes back in. He hands Spot a little bag of coins. 

“That’s four dollars from me, Race, an’ the boys,” he says. 

“Thanks,” Spot says, pocketing the money. “Can ya stay with him? Tell him where I am if he wakes up?”

“Yeah,” Jack replies. Spot ever-so-carefully gets out of bed, making sure not to wake Race, and leaves. This errand takes a little longer, but in an hour he’s back in Race’s room.

“He sleep alright?” He asks Jack, nodding to the pile of blankets that is his lover. 

“Like a baby,” Jack replies. “Didn’t wake up once.” Spot walks over to Race and gently puts a hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey, darlin’,” he says, as Race’s beautiful blue eyes open. “I got ya medicine and a little treat for ya.” He holds up a green bottle and a spoon in one hand, and a small brown paper bag in the other. “Turns out Marie was a little off on her price estimate for the medicine,” he says. “An’ I had about fifty cents left ta work with, so I decided ta get ya somethin’ at that little Italian sweetshop up the street. The boy workin’ the counter said that these peppermint chew things were one a their best sellers, ‘specially among the newsies, so I got some for ya.”

“Oh, you met Bean!” Jack says. “He’s great. Sells with us sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Spot says. “When I mentioned Race, he gave me a discount.” Race reaches for the bag, but Spot pulls it away. “Nope,” he says. “Medicine first. It’s gonna taste nasty, so once ya take it, you get a peppermint, alright?”

“But Spot,” Race whines. “I’m sick!” 

“Uh-huh,” Spot replies. “That’s only gonna get ya so far. Medicine first, then candy.” 

“But…” Race protests. 

“Nope,” Spot says. “Medicine first, Racer. No medicine, no candy.” Race pouts.

“Fine,” he says. Jack helps Race sit up as Spot carefully pours some of the medicine into the spoon.

“Open up,” he says. Race opens his mouth obediently, and swallows the dark liquid, making a face as it goes down. 

“Ugh,” he says. “That’s  _ revolting _ .” 

“I know,” Spot croons. “But you were real good about it, an’ now ya get a candy.” He pulls one of the chocolate-covered mint nougats out of the bag and hands it to Race, who pops it into his mouth immediately.

“Thanks Spot,” he says. 

“You’re welcome, love,” Spot replies. “Wanna cuddle more?” Race nods.

“Can you read ta me?” He asks. Ordinarily Spot would say no, but those big blue eyes are staring up at him, wide and pleading, and Race  _ is _ sick, after all.

“Of course, darlin’,” Spot says, smiling as he climbs into bed with Race. Race hands Spot a book from his nightstand and lays across Spot’s lap. 

“Well, I’ll leave ya to it,” Jack says. “Holler if ya need anythin’, alright?”

“Alright,” Spot says.

“Bye, Jack,” Race says. 

“Bye, Race,” Jack says. “Rest up an’ feel better, alright?”

“Alright,” Race says. Jack leaves, and Race turns his eager gaze to Spot. “C’mon, Spottie,” he says excitedly. “Start readin’! Please?” 

“Alright, alright,” Spot says, opening the book to where Race has marked his place with a torn piece of newspaper. One hand holding the book, the other in Race’s hair, he starts to read. He doesn’t usually like reading aloud, but he gets really into it. He even starts trying to do different voices for the characters, which makes him feel silly, but it makes Race giggle sleepily in his lap so he keeps doing it. He reads to Race until the sick boy falls asleep. Then he closes the book, making sure to mark his place, puts it back on the nightstand, and snuggles close to Race, pulling the covers over them both. 

 

Spot stays in Manhattan for one week, then two, taking care of Race, making sure he takes his medicine and has everything he needs. At first, the other newsies are apprehensive about sharing their lodging house with the most intimidating newsboy in history, but they warm up to him pretty quickly. Crutchie, in particular, takes a liking to Spot, using his library card to borrow books for Spot to read to Race once he gets through Race’s meager collection. One day, it’s very clear that all Race wants to do is sleep, and Jack makes a proposal that catches Spot off guard. 

“Come sell with me,” he says. 

“What?” Spot asks. 

“Come sell papes with me today,” Jack repeats. “Race’ll be fine. He ain’t gonna be wakin’ up anytime soon.” Spot stares at him.

“Did ya get your brains busted up or somethin’?” He asks. Jack rolls his eyes. 

“C’mon, Conlon,” he says. “I wanna have a chat with ya. An’ papes are on me.” Spot shrugs. With Jack paying for his papers, he couldn’t refuse. 

“Yeah, ok,” he says, carefully getting out of bed and kissing Race’s noticeably cooler forehead. He grabs the canvas satchel that Race uses to carry his papers and puts his cap on. 

“Alright,” he says. “Let’s go.” The two walk to the square where the Manhattan newsies buy their papers. 

“So… uh…” Jack says. “This probably ain’t a surprise, but I know about you an’ Race.”

“Yeah,” Spot says fiercely. “An’ there ain’t nothin’ you can do about it.” Jack holds up his hands.

“Geez, Conlon,” he says. “Let a man get a sentence out, will ya? I don’t  _ wanna _ do anythin’ about it. I ain’t the one smoochin’ ya, he is, an’ as long as he’s happy, I’m alright with the two a you bein’ together. Not that either a you need my approval. But now that you’s probably gonna be comin’ ‘round the lodging house more often, I wanted ta see if we could be more than allies.”

“Whaddya mean?” Spot asks as Jack puts his money into the box. 

“I wanna be friends,” Jack says, grabbing his stack of papers. 

“Friends, huh?” Spot muses, doing the same. “What’d that entail?”

“Well, helpin’ each other, for one,” Jack says. “If Manhattan ever strikes again, I wanna guarantee that we gots Brooklyn’s help. In return, if Brooklyn ever strikes, I’ll guarantee Manhattan’s help.”

“Anythin’ else?” Spot asks. 

“Safety on each other’s turf,” Jack says. “I’ll be able ta send any a my boys over ta talk ta you without havin’ ya worry about them gettin’ one a your “Brooklyn welcomes.” Likewise, you send your boys ta talk ta me, an’ they won’t get bothered by any a my boys. Also, no fights between our boys, unless it’s deserved. Then we have a public fight where everyone can see.”

“Yeah, alright,” Spot says. “Sounds fair.” They spit on their palms and shake on it. 

“An’ one other thing,” Jack says. “You don’t have ta let Race sell at Sheepshead, but please don’t soak him if he wanders over there.” Spot chuckles.

“I’ve been alright with Racer sellin’ at Sheepshead since he started kissin’ me,” he says. “My boys know not ta mess with him. He’s perfectly safe.” As they reach Jack’s usual selling spot, the conversation fades. They work hard all day, in friendly competition, each boy trying to outsell the other.

“Why’d ya threaten me?” Jack asks as they walk back to the lodging house. “When ya first came here ta see Race, I mean.”

“I was scared,” Spot says after a long pause. “All I’d heard was that Race had fainted on the streets. I didn’t know what state he was in, or even if he was alive. I almost lost him durin’ that strike a yours, and I wasn’t gonna lose him again. Why’d you try ta stop me?”

“Didn’t know why you were there,” Jack says. “Race is one a my best friends, an’ he’s my second. I trust him with my life, an’ I like him a lot, but he can be real irritatin’ sometimes, so when the king a Brooklyn showed up on my doorstep lookin’ all angry an’ demandin’ ta see him, I thought you was gonna soak him. I’m glad you didn’t, an’ I’m glad ya came. It’s done him a lot a good ta be with you.”

“Thanks for lettin’ me stay,” Spot says. 

“It’s nothin’,” Jack says. “There was no way I was gonna kick ya out once I saw how happy Race was ta see ya.” They reach the lodging house, and Jack pulls Spot into a strong-armed hug. 

“Nice job today,” he says.

“You too,” Spot replies. They part ways, Jack climbing the fire escape to the roof, where he knows Crutchie will be waiting for him, and Spot immediately going to Race’s room. Spot shakes Race’s shoulder. Race whines sleepily and tries to swat Spot’s hand away.

“C’mon, Racer,” Spot says. “Time for your last dose a medicine. Time ta wake up, love.” Race opens his eyes. 

“Last one?” He asks. 

“Last one,” Spot confirms.

“Promise?” Race asks. 

“Promise,” Spot replies, gently kissing Race’s lips. 

“Alright,” Race says, sitting up as Spot measures out the very last dose of medicine. He takes it without protest, and Spot sets the bottle and spoon aside and grabs the paper bag from the nightstand.

“Well, whaddya know?” He says. “There’s one more peppermint in here.” Race perks up, waiting for the mint. Spot smirks. “Oh, you think I’m just gonna  _ give _ it to ya,” he says. “No, you’re gonna have ta work for this one.” He pops it into his mouth, holding it there as he kisses his lover. Race immediately starts nibbling at Spot’s bottom lip, and Spot opens his mouth to let Race slip his tongue in. Race immediately goes for the candy, but Spot plays keepaway with him for a little while before finally letting him pull the mint into his mouth. Race chews and swallows. 

“You ass,” he says. “You melted all the chocolate off it!” 

“Sorry, darlin’,” Spot replies. He kisses Race again. “Now that you’re all better, I’m gonna have ta get back ta Brooklyn.” Spot says. Race’s face falls, and Spot feels extremely guilty. “I’m sorry, beautiful,” he says. “I’ve been away for too long.” 

“You’re leavin’ tonight?” Race asks. His lip quivers, and it’s obvious that he’s about to burst into tears. 

“No, I ain’t leavin’ tonight, ya moron,” Spot says. “In the mornin’. An’ besides, you know you’s welcome in Brooklyn, an’ Jack says I’m welcome here. You know this ain’t the last time we’ll be seein’ each other.”

“But you won’t be here ta read ta me,” Race whines.

“Racer, you can read,” Spot says. “You don’t need me ya read to ya.”

“But I like it when you read ta me,” Race says.

“Well, maybe I’ll do it again sometime,” Spot says. He gets into bed with Race, and Race curls against his chest. 

“Hey,” Spot says softly. “No cryin’. You know I love you, Racer.”

“I know,” Race replies. “An’ I love you too. That’s why I don’t want ya ta go. I wanna be with ya always.”

“Me too, love,” Spot says. “One day, when we’re too old ta sell papes anymore, we’ll get a place and live together. I promise.”

“What’s it gonna be like?” Race asks excitedly. “Please, Spot, tell me what it’ll be like!” Spot chuckles. 

“Alright, darlin’,” he says. “You just settle down, an’ I’ll tell ya all about it.” Race snuggles close to Spot’s warm body under the blankets, his muscles relaxing as Spot begins talking in a soft quiet voice. “We’ll have a nice, quiet house by the water. It’ll be in Brooklyn, kinda close ta Sheepshead so you can still go watch the races. We’ll have a nice little garden an’ a library for you. There’ll be a cozy bedroom just for the two a us, maybe with some a Jack’s artwork. An’ there’ll be a sweet little kitty livin’ with us. We won’t have ta worry about nothin’, not the cops, not Pulitzer, not sellin’ enough papes ta stay alive. It’ll be perfect.”

“I can’t wait,” Race mumbles sleepily. 

“Me neither, Spot says. “Me neither.”


End file.
